


The Ghosts of Christmas Past

by banquos_ghost



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, British Character, Christmas, Christmas Angst, December Picture Prompt, Gen, Heavy Drinking, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 16:09:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8807428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banquos_ghost/pseuds/banquos_ghost
Summary: It's Christmas and MacCready's emotions are at breaking point. He can't stand his latest client, but while the caps keep rolling in he has little choice but to put up and shut up.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [likegoodangels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/likegoodangels/gifts).



> For the December Picture Prompt Challenge  
> [@likegoodangels](http://likegoodangels.tumblr.com/tagged/prompts)
> 
> (Peter is my OC, he is a British friend of Nate and Nora, that happened to blag his way into the Vault, and is trying to survive in the Commonwealth after leaving the Vault).

Peter stretched his long legs luxuriously as he chowed down on his bowl of noodles. MacCready eyed him. For such a skinny guy he sure did have a huge appetite, exceeding even his own voracity. As a mercenary MacCready couldn't be too fussy about his clients, but man, Peter was something else. The only thing he had going for him was caps, and plenty of them. The guy was a cap magnet, credit where it was due, he knew exactly how much pressure to apply to get the most out of any negotiation. That was where MacCready's appreciation of Peter began and ended. In every other respect the guy was a dickhead. Still, caps were caps and in the absence of any better clients he'd just have to tough it out.

'Well, I'll be buggered...' Peter's sudden exclamation made MacCready start and almost spill his own noodles. God he wished Peter wouldn't do things like that. He was such an erratic piece of shit he was always annoying MacCready in new and ever more bizarre ways. _Caps are caps, caps are caps_. This had become his internal mantra of late, a calming strategy for dealing with his client's annoying quirks, which were legion.

'What...?' MacCready all but sneered at Peter, who seemed to be waiting for some sort of response.

'They're putting up Christmas decorations..?' Peter gesticulated at various residents of Diamond City, busy erecting Christmas trees and assorted paraphernalia.

'Yeah... and?' MacCready wondered if there would ever come a time when Peter's strange British accent wouldn't grate on him. Probably not in this lifetime.

'You still celebrate Christmas?'

 _Fucks sake, this guy, fresh out of a vault and like some fucking wide eyed innocent about everything. The only thing he'd taken to like a duck to water was fucking chems, but now wasn't the time to worry about that. Peter was sober. What he did once he got in his room at The Dugout wasn't his concern, thank fuck._ 'Yes, Peter, _we_ still celebrate Christmas.'

Peter shrugged, murmured, softly to himself and returned his attention to his noodles. MacCready stared into the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree that had been placed next to Power Noodles. His first Christmas without Duncan. Without Lucy. Here in the Commonwealth, just him and Peter. Not what he planned. The lights of the Christmas tree morphed and blurred, or was that the tears in MacCready's eyes? He blinked. If Peter should see? No, it didn't bear thinking about. He gulped down the lump in his throat and set about polishing off the rest of his noodles.

'I'm going to the Dugout.' Peter was off his stool and his long skinny legs carrying him on the well trodden path to the Dugout Inn. 'See you there, MacCready.'

MacCready grunted in reply. His remaining noodles were rapidly cooling in the frigid air, so he gulped them down, doing his best to ignore the glittering lights twinkling in his peripheral vision.

*******************  
By the time MacCready made it to the Dugout Inn Peter was already a few sheets to the wind. Holding forth at the bar, fellow drinkers transfixed by his bullshit all delivered in that soft British voice and accompanied by Peter's usual flourishes and hand mimes. MacCready had heard these damn anecdotes too many times, and settled down in a chair behind the screen, as far away from that annoying bastard as he could reasonably be. He could still hear _that_ voice though and the laughs of the willing audience. 

'Merry Christmas, Mac' he toasted himself ironically. Tomorrow was Christmas Day, according to Peter's PipBoy. He wondered if Duncan had received the meagre gift pack that he had sent via Daisy's caravan contacts to the Capital Wasteland. He had no way of knowing, though the gifts were the least of his worries. Duncan's illness hadn't improved any and MacCready was still many caps away from being able to hire someone decent to help him get the medicine from MedTek. There was no way on earth he would ask Peter. He shuddered at the thought. The guy was barely competent, and seemed to survive most encounters through sheer luck. The thought of having to confide in Peter, ask him a favour, was ludicrous. Nope, he'd stick with Peter purely for caps though every day was a trial.

The evening dragged, Peter wouldn't shut up and MacCready felt waves of tiredness crashing over him. He made his way over to Peter who was still holding court at the bar. 'I'm turning in now, Peter, catch you in the morning'

'Oh, ok, Mac, I already sorted a room for you with Yefim... so I guess I'll see you in the morning.'

'Thanks, Peter, uh, goodnight, Merry Christmas,' MacCready was pleasantly surprised. Peter was many things but tight with his money he was not. Whenever they were in a major settlement Peter always paid for MacCready to have his own room, though this hadn't happened enough times for MacCready to _assume_ it was a given, or take it for granted. In fact, maybe he'd been a bit harsh earlier. Peter never docked the 10 caps from his weekly stipend either, so... oh God, any further down this road and he was going to be joining the adoring throng at the bar. So, Peter had a couple of redeeming qualities. So what? He was probably well aware that if they shared a room MacCready would end up killing him, so this wasn't kindness on Peter's part. No, this was self-preservation. 

'Are you sure you won't stay for one more?' Peter's voice called after MacCready's retreating back.

MacCready stopped, seriously considered for a moment. The warm fug of the bar, the people, the laughs. Maybe it was what he needed. Rather than sitting in his room brooding over Lucy and Duncan. He turned on his heel. 'Aw, go on then.'

Reaching the bar, Peter clapped him on the back, Vadim pouring the bourbon already. An empty stool magically appearing and MacCready finding himself sat on it, leaning on the bar, bourbon in hand and Peter grinning at him, his boyish face alight with genuine pleasure that MacCready had joined him. This probably wasn't going to be the wisest decision he ever made, but fuck it, it was Christmas.

*******************

 

Opening one eyelid tentatively MacCready didn't know where he was. The light hit him in the brain like a bullet to the head. Eurgh. What a night. He could see Peter's hand, curiously he looked some more. Peter was sprawled on the floor at the foot of the bed. MacCready was at least actually on the bed, Peter hadn't even made it back to his own room. MacCready ran his tongue around his dry foul tasting mouth. Why did he have to stay up drinking with Peter? He should have gone to bed reasonably sober when he had the chance. 

Peter's hand moved, and MacCready's ears were assaulted by the sound of groans as Peter rose unsteadily to his feet, clutching his head. 'What a night, MacCready.... bet you're glad you stayed up now..'

Damn Peter's irrepressible cheerfulness. Even though he appeared to be nursing a hangover he was still in ebullient mood, pulling on his ramshackle raider armour and making noises about breakfast. The last thing MacCready felt like doing was eating. He rolled back over in the bed, facing the wall to avoid meeting Peter's eyes. 

Peter left the room, his voice trailing after him..'I'll get you some breakfast then, Mac, see you in a minute.. We'll be leaving in half an hour, we need to get to Vault 81 I promised...' but whatever it was Peter had promised to the mystery Vault dweller MacCready didn't hear, or care about. So they were going to Vault 81... whatever.

MacCready made a superhuman effort and hauled himself from the bed. Peter was eating a hearty breakfast in the bar area, and exchanging banter with Vadim and Yefim. He gesticulated at a large plate, loaded with some sort of fried meat, that made MacCready boak at the sight and smell of it. 'No thanks Peter, I'll pass'

MacCready sat at an adjacent table and sipped a purified water, the only thing his protesting stomach could process right now. This was not his idea of a fun way to spend Christmas morning. It would probably be best just to pretend it was a normal day, just another normal day. Thank god Peter had a job to keep them occupied, sitting around in The Dugout all day getting drunk again was the last thing he wanted to do, even if that was what half of Diamond City had planned for their festive celebrations.

The sound of Peter's chair scraping the floor as he left the table set MacCready's teeth on edge. His head was still throbbing painfully. A bit of fresh air was probably just what he needed, so he gathered his possessions together and within 10 minutes he was exiting Diamond City. Peter was singing a little song to himself. MacCready gritted his teeth and repeated his internal mantra _'Caps are caps, caps are caps.'_ By the time they approached Chestnut Hillock Reservoir his irritation with his boss had subsided somewhat. 

There was bright white virginal snow carpeting the ground, beautiful and unspoilt save for a few animal footprints. The reservoir was frozen and the air was crisp and chilling MacCready's lungs. Peter suggested they stop for a smoke break and MacCready readily agreed.

The two men lit their cigarettes, leaning on the railing of the old house by the water's edge. It really was a beautiful day. The fresh snow covered and renewed the tired landscape. A bright winter sun shone in a cloudless blue sky. MacCready surveyed the frozen scene, now his brain was no longer distracted with the mechanics of walking through the rough terrain his thoughts were free to roam, and study the scene with aching reddened eyes. 

Snow and ice, twinkling in the bright sun, the effect mesmerising, and his thoughts thrown tangentially from his throbbing head. _This was shit. This was no fucking life._ The light shimmered and twinkled from the ice droplets hanging from trees as a gentle breeze caressed the leafless branches, and MacCready was away with the ghosts of Christmas past again. Lucy and Duncan, running round in his head. Candles lit and faces illuminated. Conspiratorial loving looks over the child's head as he pounced on his present. The warm touch of hand on hand. The feeling of permanence. Feelings lied. A year later, no more happy families. No more Christmas presents or eyes meeting in understanding. Just this howling void of emptiness. Loneliness. Self-doubt made the tears glisten in his eyes again. What was Duncan doing at this moment? Was he missing him, was he wondering where his Dad was? Or was he just resigned and accepting, illness robbing him of wants and desires? 

Should he have left? He'd promised himself to stop thinking this, promised himself months ago it was a one way ticket to Insanity-ville. For better or worse, things were as they were. He was doing his best, wasn't he? How could he do any more? 

He knew he could do more... knew it, yet didn't. Things didn't deserve to carry on being so beautiful in the light of his own misery. It was an assault on his eyes to look at such a scene. All these eyes deserved to see were death, destruction and ugliness. If he got the medicine, then what? If Duncan got better, then what? He couldn't even think of the alternative, if Duncan died. Fuck, he could be dead right now for all MacCready would know of it. The thought brought a sharp inhale of breath, and with the expulsion of the breath clouds of condensation formed around MacCready's head.

And here was Peter. Standing beside him. Probably ready to make some shitty wisecrack or some stupid remark. The lake looked like the ice would bear Peter's weight. MacCready was tempted to hurl Peter towards it, and find out, he couldn't stand to hear his bullshit right now.

No remark was forthcoming. They stood together side by side. Whatever thoughts were in Peter's head stayed there. MacCready stole a glance sideways. Peter's warm brown eyes were distant, vacant. Full of unshed tears. No words to say now. This was an unguarded Peter, as lost in his memories and ghosts as MacCready was. They stood, in a kind of understanding, both in their own private meditation on lives passed by, memories and sentiments conjured up by the season and the lake. The ghosts of the past, once they left this lake, this view, this moment, they'd be gone, and the masks Peter and MacCready wore to fool the world would be back in place. But for this brief moment, they were united in their mutual misery.

**Author's Note:**

> For the December Picture Prompt challenge.  
> [@likegoodangels](http://likegoodangels.tumblr.com/tagged/prompts)
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> My tumblr is : [thebanquosghost](http://thebanquosghost.tumblr.com)  
> 


End file.
